Unwritten
by Niham
Summary: Movieverse, AU. Maggie is the author of the popular book series, Transformers. But when her ride transforms into a giant fictional robot, AKA main character Jazz, she realizes that there is more truth to her books than meets the eye. Who knew?
1. Chapter 1

**A/n: **I wasn't going to do a romance for this story. I chose Maggie because she's easier to write than Sam, and I like writing Glen. However, somehow I developed a taste for robot/human pairings, and when I searched Maggie pairings, I found a tiny population of Maggie/Jazz. So, that's how this story began. R&R please.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Transformers, whether it be in the form of movie, comic, or book. I didn't even write the first paragraph of this chapter. It's an excerpt from the movie.

* * *

**Unwritten**

**Chapter One**

Before time began, there was the Cube. We know not where it comes from, only that it holds the power to create worlds and fill them with life. That is how our race was born. For a time, we lived in harmony. But like all great power, some wanted it for good, others for evil. And so began the war — a war that ravaged our planet until it was consumed by death, and the Cube was lost to the far reaches of space. We scattered across the galaxy, hoping to find it and rebuild our home. Searching every star, every world…

Maggie scribbled out the paragraph. After a moment's contemplation, she cursed and rewrote it. She usually began her books with a prologue narrated by Optimus Prime. Besides, she had to put an end to her pickiness otherwise she would never finish the book.

"Hey, Maggie, what's up?" Before she could answer, the notebook was snatched out of her hands. Her friend and editor plopped into the chair beside her, examining her fluid handwriting. "So, what are Optimus and the gang up to today?"

"Glen— "

Glen pushed a _Coke _into her hands, his gaze fixed upon the notebook. The pages were reflected in the lens of his glasses. "Glen," she repeated, setting the _Coke _aside. She held out her hand. "My notebook, please."

After a moment, he pushed out his lower lip, nodding with satisfaction. "It's looking good," he said, returning the notebook. "Of course, you've only been working on that first paragraph for seven weeks now." He stressed the words 'seven weeks.'

Maggie rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know."

"Still battling the writer's block, huh?"

Maggie nodded. She had been plagued with the most troublesome bout of writer's block since the release of her third book in the _Transformers _series. The fourth instalment was supposed to be the end, the final battle, but for whatever reason she couldn't decide what exactly would happen; where the Allspark had landed, who would live and who would perish. And when she reached for the words to compose a perfect, crystalline sentence, the syllables slipped through her fingers like tiny grains of sand.

"Everything I write feels…cheap," she said. "It just doesn't feel right, or real. At this point, I don't even know what's going to happen."

"You talk like you're writing a biography or something. It's not real, Mag. Just make something up and if the scene seems 'cheap,' we can just delete it from the final manuscript."

She smiled. "Not real? That's funny coming from you." When Glen (the self-dubbed Official #1 Fan of _Transformer) _wasn't harassing her about the books, he was either sucked into a video game or cheering on the vain Wily Coyote during a Saturday morning cartoon marathon.

Shrugging, Glen grabbed the _Coke, _cracked it open, and took a long swig. He smacked his lips. "Works for me, man." After a moment, he said, "But no matter what you write, I still get first dibs, right?"

Harassment by best friends— it was a hazard of being the author of a popular book series. She was still a little surprised by the success of her books, considering that the basic idea had come out of nowhere; she had just sat down one day after class and decided to write a story about a DNA based robots from outer space. Then the next thing she knew, she was plotting events on a time line— as if it had really happened— studying character development, diction, theme and setting, and thus began the beginnings of a New York Times #1 Bestseller.

They often asked her about that, how she had gotten started with the series. It was just a fluke, though. A random burst of inspiration. And now, five years later, Maggie couldn't count that times that she had been asked: "Okay, so what happens next?" "Will Bumblebee get his voice back?" "Will the Autobots become extinct?" "Do they find the Allspark?" Then there was Maggie's personal favorite: "Were Optimus Prime human, would he prefer boxers or briefs?"

Speaking of interviews, she had a book singing later that evening, after a meeting with an artist interested in helping creating a comic adaptation of her books.

"Hey, can I ask you a favor?" Glen nodded, sipping the _Coke_. "I have a signing tonight and my car is in the shop. Would you give me a ride? Please?"

"Sure, why not?" he said. "I've only gone to _almost_ every single singing in the history of _Transformers._ What's another one on the list?"

**X X X X X**

Maggie cleared her throat. "Sorry, but there's a few things wrong with this," she said, looking up from the portfolio of the possible _Transformers _comic adaptation. She was being as kind as possible; he was only a kid after all. "You've obviously put a lot of work into this, but…Okay first of all, the Decepticon in this panel, whom I believe is supposed to be Starscream, has blue optics." She looked up without lifting her chin. "They should be red."

The kid scratched the corner of his forehead. "It's just eye color," he said. "No big deal, right?"

"No, it _is _a big deal," said Maggie. "Decepticons have red optics; Autobots have blue. It's like…Darth Vader using a blue light saber. He wouldn't seem as venomous, would he? Blue is a peaceful color, red is menacing. Good guys use blue and green lightsabers, bad guys use red. It's just…no. Sorry."

_Lord_, she thought, _I'm starting to sound like Glen._

She couldn't help it though; every time she sat down to write, she naturally pictured Autobots with blue glowing blue eyes and Decepticons with red. Black and white, blue and red. Simple as that.

He folded his arms and sighed. He was probably still in high school, or recently graduated. "Kay, what else?"

"Well, your artwork is, for the most part, phenomenal. I love the detail."

"However?"

"However, the coloring is too dark. _Transformers _is aimed for a younger audience. It would beneficial to brighten the tone a little. And also," Maggie added quickly, "We should avoid using words like, 'fuck,' 'oh, shit,' 'a-hole,' et cetera, et cetera. I doubt that parents would be happy with me if I permitted you to expose their children to vulgar language. You can use stuff like 'slag' and 'grease-ball,' but watch how you phrase things."

The kid blinked. "Whoa, wait a minuet," he said, straightening up. "Watch how I say…dude, you mean— "

Maggie smiled. "Yes, I'll supervise the comic."

He jumped out of his seat and punched the air. "Hell, yeah!"

"Yeah, I understand your excitement and everything, but listen, I have to go. I have a book signing in an hour. My ride should be here any minuet." She closed the portfolio. "Can I hang onto this?"

"Sure," he said, still beaming and shaking his fist triumphantly. "Whatever."

"And what was your name again?"

"It's Sam. Sam Witwicky."

After making arrangements to meet again, she walked Sam to the door. "No, I'm not joking— "

"Whoa," said Sam, stopping halfway down the stoop. He was staring, awestruck, at a sleek Poniac Solstice parked in her driveway. The engine was running, waiting. The stereo throbbed with the bass of an urban hip-hop beat that Maggie didn't recognize, and the car's silver frame flashed in the evening sun. "Dude, is that your car?"

Maggie blinked. She didn't recognize the driver. He had dark hair, strong features, and kept his eyes shaded behind a pair of narrow glasses. "Don't be stupid," she muttered. "I don't even know anyone with a car that nice."

The throbbing music filled her ears, even from a distance. It sound vaguely familiar. Vaguely, vaguely familiar.

* * *

**A/N: **I could have ended this better. In fact, I'm not even sure what to think of this story. I think I know how . Maggie feels, about the writer's block and all. And I put the thing about the eye color in there on purpose, knowing full well that in the movie Frenzy had blue optics (eyes, whatever the hell you want to call them). So yeah, whatever. I've never written about robotic charctacters, be nice, the whole shebang. R&R please


	2. Chapter 2

****

Identity Theft

It took her a moment to recognize the driver. Perhaps it was the hair; it was darker than she remembered. As for the music, she recognized it from her college days— the days of wild parties, gray haired professors, all night study groups, and insane quantities of warm, amber booze.

Maggie felt her jaw drop slightly. "Will?" The driver cracked a smile, lifting his fingers to his brow in a casual salute.

Sam looked at her. "Who's that?"

"Will Lennox. He's a friend from college," said Maggie. "But the last I heard, he had been deployed to Qatar."

"But you said you didn't know anyone with a car that nice."

Maggie frowned. Will could not afford a Pontiac Solstice. His wife, Sarah, was still paying off her loans and they had a baby on the way. "I don't," she said, walking over and tapping on the window. Maggie could see herself in window's reflection. Her image was distorted in the car's glossy frame.

"Nice car," she said over the music. "Does Sarah know?"

The volume dropped, although he did not have to reach over and twist the knob. "Glen said that you needed a ride. He said something about 'bingo.'"

Bingo. Maggie scowled, understanding perfectly. It was bingo night. Maggie hated bingo. She found it boring and wasteful as far as money and time were concerned. Glen's grandmother, on the other hand, was obsessed with the game. So naturally, she would have his car that night. One more reason to hate bingo.

"Well," she said, "I suppose if you're going to ride, ride in style, right?"

Will smiled. "That's my philosophy."

After bidding Sam goodbye, Maggie hurried into the house. She grabbed her cell phone and purse, set the burglar alarm, and locked up. She had invited Will inside, but he just shook his head and insisted on waiting in the car. It was odd, she would admit. Being close friends as they were, she thought that Will or Sarah would have at least called or emailed her.

"So," she said, climbing into the passenger seat. "I thought they sent you overseas."

Will shrugged. "Stuff came up."

"And they sent you home?"

He glanced over his shoulder, carefully backing out of the driveway. The wheel slid through Will's grasp like oil. He kept his gaze fixed on the road behind and shrugged. His expression was blank, unreadable, like stone or metal. "Yeah," he said. "Something like that."

Perhaps, Maggie reasoned, the military had more secrets and mysteries than they were willing to reveal to the public. Maggie understood. Considering her work,

Maggie was also obliged to keep secrets, and she was good at keeping them. She listened to the music, the speakers throbbing behind the front seats like a giant heart.

"So," Will said after a moment. "You're familiar with the Autobots?"

Maggie sighed. Somehow, all of her conversations ended up having something to do with the mention of her stories. It was always _Transformers_ this and _Transformers_ that, as if she had nothing else to talk about. Stupid books. They were taking over her life…and yet, somehow she still managed to adore them.

"That's a weird question, especially coming from you." Will remained silent. "I wrote the books," she said. "Didn't I?"

Reaching up, Will adjusted his sunglasses. For a moment, Maggie thought she thought she saw a flash of electric blue escape behind those dark lenses.

"So you know where the All Spark is?"

"Naturally."

It was a common, but necessary lie.She had no idea where it had gone. Optimus had launched into space in order to keep it from Megatron's evil clutches. Maggie recalled the scene with perfect ease. She remembered the words that she had used to describe the lingering reek of burning oil and molten metal, and how the Cube had vanished behind the waning Cybertronian moon as it drifted into the blackness of space, twinkling like a tiny vagabond star.

Still, authors like her were supposed to have at least a vague idea of how their story would end. It would be sorely unprofessional otherwise, even in front of Will, who was not the sort of person to sit down and actually read a book front to back.

"I don't want to read about other people's adventures," he had once told her. "I don't want imagine or pretend to be a hero. I'd rather go on my own grand escapade and battle villains and have my own multiple near death experiences." Maggie often wondered if that was the reason why he had joined the military, to experience the true meaning of adventure for himself.

As they passed through a small neighborhood with big houses and thick green lawns, Will scratched the back of his head, puffing out his cheeks in a long sigh. "Where do you get the…" he paused, as if searching for the right word, "…inspiration?"

Maggie shrugged. She had answered that question so many times. "It's like any idea, I guess. It arrives at a random interval, throws out its mechanical arms out and says, 'Here I am Maggie! Do with me what you will!' with no real explanation as to where it came from or why." Now if only her muse would return, bearing the answers to Book 4.

"That doesn't make any sense." He hesitated as if to add more, but seemed to decide against it. "The story is…too elaborate to have been created randomly."

Maggie frowned. Had Will Lennox defied his own personal laws and cracked open a book? _Her_ books? "I don't think it's supposed to," she said, after a moment, puzzled.

"But you wrote it like a historical document, give or take a few minor details— "

"So you _did_ read it!" Maggie grinned, proud of herself. "I finally got you to read a book."

"Hey, in my defense I read plenty of books."

"Sure you do," said Maggie, unconvinced. "What genre?"

"I told you, lots of books. Electronic books. Audio books. Whatever I can download off the internet."

Maggie rolled her eyes. She didn't believe a word of it. "Those aren't books."

"It's still literature, isn't it?"

They made a smooth left turn down a street that Maggie didn't recognize. "Where are we going?"

"To your event," came the simple reply.

"But this isn't— "

"It's a shortcut," said Will. "Trust me, it's faster."

Sure enough, seven minuets later, they pulled up to the front of the library. "Aren't you coming?" Maggie asked, when she realized that Will had made no move to leave the car.

He shook his head. "Not this time."

"But you read the books— "

"I have a meeting," he said quickly. "With my…boss."

Maggie had to admit, she was a little disappointed. It had been ages since she and Will had sat down and talked, and she was just itching to know about Sarah and the baby.

They hadn't spoken in a while; Maggie supposed that life did that to people. Made them busy and made them loose touch.

"We should get together sometime," she said. "You, Sarah, Glen and I. All of us. For old time's sake, you know?"

"Trust me," said Will. "We have _plenty _to discuss."

* * *

Meanwhile, due north of Qatar at approximately 1200 hours, the _real_ Captain Lennox had just finished typing several excruciatingly long reports. The canvas walls wavered slightly, disturbed by a rare breeze. It did little to relief Will of the stuffy heat within the tent, but he was used to the heat. Will couldn't wait to go home. If everything went according to plan, he would be home in three days. He would step off that plane and return to his quiet farm outside of Tranquility, to his beloved wife and their soon-to-be child. No more dusty desert, unforgiving hot weather, or scorpion beasts.

Moreover, he could finally talk to Maggie about those damn books. He had tried to email her, but most of the messages had been returned. For the ones that had gone through, he hadn't received a reply. Truthfully, Will wasn't a book person. He preferred physical action, real experiences. Until recently, he had brushed her stories off as mere fiction, made up nonsense, but then about a week ago, Epps had joined him one evening.

He had slapped a copy of _Transformers, Book One_ onto the table's hard surface. "You ever read these books?" he asked, his tone flat and serious.

Will scoffed. "I have better things to do."

Epps bit his lip. He slid the book towards Will. The picture of a chrome colored robot…_thing_ had been printed on the front cover, staring up at Will with electric blue eyes, like some warning omen. "I think you should read it," he said. "You know the girl who wrote it?"

"Yeah, she's a good friend of mine."

"Well, there's a rumor going around that I think you should know about."

Will rolled his eyes. "Please, Maggie is famous," he said. "There's always rumors going around about her."

"You're not going to like the one that's floating around camp." He paused, watching as Will stacked the papers, placing them carefully in an orange envelope. "Apparently, the US government's taken an interest in your friend and her books, and I don't mean a good interest."

Will's eyes snapped up. He lifted both eyebrows. "Maggie?" Epps nodded. "You're

kidding me. She's harmless. That girl has had her head in the clouds since college."

"I'm serious, man, they're talking about a big security breech in some government run program. Something to do with this electrical Cube thing your friend wrote about."

Will almost laughed. He was a practical man. He prefered realism and hardcore truth over fantasy. Conspiracy theories had no place in his life, and he wasn't about to believe that the FBI was going to take Maggie into custody because of her robot books.

"So let me get this straight," he had said. "You mean to tell me that Maggie's robot books have to with some…Area 51 conspiracy?"

"Man, have you ever been inside Area 51?"

Will gave his friend a flat look. "Nobody has been inside of Area 51. They shoot people who try to get too close."

"Exactly my point."

"It's nonsense," Will said. "Maggie's books have nothing to do with real aliens or government secrets. Some crazed fan made that up to stir attention."

Oh, how he now regretted those words…

Just yesterday morning, something horribly strange and terrifying had happened. Just before noon, one of his team members had spotted it, a demon thing, lurking below the sand like some evil snake. The sand had rippled across the desert floor, like water, slithering closer to the border of their camp before exploding through the sand.

A scorpion machine…thing.

Will didn't know what to call it. It had just burst out of the sand, gyros and gears clicking and whirling into place. Sand spilled out of its joints like waterfalls of dusty, yellow grains. It's widow black panels split open, revealing several small cannons that were filled with fire adn smoke as it blasted missals at any fleshy target that caught the attention of its smoldering red eyes.

It pretty much destroyed the entire camp, resulting in several casualties, and despite their consistence fires, it had taken _forever _to die. This had been done so with the aid of aerial forces, of course. And those eyes, remembered those eyes. They had caught sight of him, barking orders at his troops, fireing mercilessly at the monster, cauterizing themselves into his memory.

Last night, during the aftermath of the battle, Will had been picking through a pile of scorched debris when he found the half-burnt copy of _Transformers,_ _Volume I. _He traced a finger across the front cover, the edges curled and blackened. The robot's intricate mechanical frame seemed similar to the thing they had encountered earlier, and the glowing eyes made him shiver. Up in the left right corner, just above the book's bold text title, there was a square, a 3D cube drifting rolling weightlessly into vast, empty blanket of starlight.

The book was now sitting on Will's foldable desk as he waited for the plane. He had picked it up, opening it to the first, crinkled page. Memories of the day's experience sent a rush of adrenaline through his blood, making his heart race. _Perhaps_, Will decided, _I_ _should start reading. _

* * *

__

A/n: I could have added more to this chapter, but I'm exhausted and I've been writing all night. R&R please.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n**: I've been having some technical difficulties uploading chapters. The bars aren't converting, and paragraphs are accidentally getting italicized when I don't want them to be. I've also found some scrunched up text here and there. It seems that I fixed most of it. I hope I didn't loose anyone over it...that would suck. R&R please.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

****

More Than Meets the Eye

It pleased Maggie to no end to see a child curled up in a giant armchair, engrossed in a storybook. One of _her _novels filled pages of words strung into perfect sentences that had come from the far corners of _her_ heart.

Sometimes a parent would come up and thank her because the books had started their children on reading binges. This was unexpected, since there were chapters in _Transformers_ that contained a significant quantity of violence. However, books had a tendency to spark the imagination, igniting new ideas and curiosity. Books could change the world of a child. Maggie knew; she had been a child once too. It was enough to convince Maggie that if she could get just one more to start reading, then that was good enough a reason to keep writing than anything.

Today, most of her readers were children. There were several teenagers, and a handful of adults. They made inquiries while handing over their copies of _Transformers_ for her to sign. Questions, questions, questions. How Maggie both loved and hated questions.

"I have a question," one boy asked. He was about nine years old with big eyes and messy brown hair. "If you could talk to one character, alive or dead, who would it be?"

Maggie thought for a moment. "Jazz," she said. "He has a near perfect memory drive, excellent for recording battles and historical data. I wouldn't mind picking his brain for a few details…What's your name?"

"Daniel," he said. "Is it hard to write books?"

Maggie smiled, making the signature out to Daniel. "Sometimes," she said. "But then most often the difficult things are the most rewarding. Don't you think?" _Book Four will be rewarding,_ she told herself. _Once you get over this writer's block. _

Daniel shrugged. "Maybe."

Hanging quick right, Bumblebee pulled into the streets of a quiet suburb. He was pretty sure that he had lost Barricade back in Main Street traffic, but now he needed a place to hide, somewhere to lay low long enough to keep Barricade distracted in his search while Jazz 'interviewed' the human called Maggie.

Bumblebee couldn't wait to hear it. Finally, they had a clue as to where the Cube had landed. It was somewhere on Earth, but _where? _

Only Maggie could answer that.

She had recorded three seven-hundred-page books concerning the history of Cybertron and the war prior to launching the Allspark into space, and while she had skimmed over many unimportant battles, the more defining events had been recorded almost precisely according to the actual event. Even the conversations were practically word for word.

It was almost creepy.

Almost as if she had downloaded the information into her organic little brain, but that was nearly impossible for biological beings. Although at that point in the war, Bumblebee and his companions were ready to believe just about anything if it meant that was hope not entirely lost.

They knew that the Allspark had landed somewhere on Earth, and they knew that it was capable of (among other things) absorbing information from living beings, hence the myriad codes encrypted on the Cube's outer shell. So perhaps Maggie had found the Cube and deciphered the codes. Like an alien version of the Rosetta Stone.

Again, it was far fetched, but then stranger things have happened across the galaxy.

__

A place to hide…a place to hide…Aha!

There was a house planted at the south corner of the block. It was painted a rich brown and had wide rectangular windows. Out front was a carefully kept lawn of thick green grass. Lining the perimeter of the house was several blossoming flowerbeds. The humans who lived there appeared to be absent; there was no one in the driveway…or in the open garage, which Bumblebee thought would be a perfect hiding place.

A little rat-like dog barked as he quietly pulled into the garage. Activating the machine attached to the door, he let it close behind him, encasing him in total darkness. There was no one home. He only needed to hide for a little while, plenty of time to give Barricade the slip and keep him occupied.

And hopefully, it would be enough.

* * *

Maggie folded her arms as the window rolled down. She stood on the sidewalk outside the library after the event had ended. Darkness had already settled over the parking lot's cold asphalt.

"Thought you could use a ride home," said Will.

"I find it odd," said Maggie, slightly suspicious. "That I just called a cab and ten minuets later you show up. I thought you had a meeting."

Will shrugged dismissively. "I got out early." The door popped open with a small click.

"Get in and save yourself some money."

Maggie sighed. "Speaking of money," she said, climbing into the passenger seat. "I don't mean to nag but this car**—**"

"—Is off the hook!" Will finished. "Baby, you've such a slick ride." They pulled out of the parking lot rather quickly, veering almost effortlessly around the sharp corner. _Show off. _

"Baby?" Maggie repeated. "Did you just call me…baby?"

He suddenly looked worried. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Yes," said Maggie. "You're married. The only person you should be calling _baby _is Sarah."

"Oh." A pause, and then a change of subjects. "So, about your books— "

"You're obsessed with them," Maggie interrupted. "I know."

"And with good reason."

Before anything else could be said, the sound of sirens filled the streets. Flashing red and blue lights lit up the night. Will cursed through his teeth, "The bastard just loves making things difficult, doesn't he?"

"Maybe he thinks you stole the car," Maggie suggested, half sarcastically, but to her horror, Will didn't pull over. "Aren't you going to pull over?"

It happened too fast, without any warning: Will scoffed and the car sped up, allowing the speedometer to climb ten…twenty…twenty-six miles over the speed limit. The engine roared as they shot through the streets. "Will? Will, you psycho, stop it! Damn it, what do think you're doing? Will, pull over!"

He ignored her pleas. Instead the car swerved into the other lane, weaving in and out of traffic. They dodged several oncoming cars, many of whom honked angrily just as they eluded collision. "His ass is so grass," muttered Will.

Maggie glanced over her shoulder. The blood in her cheeks had run cold. Her stomach was in knots. Meanwhile the law enforcement vehicle never let up. Its blinding high beams made it impossible for Maggie to see the driver. She swallowed hard. Not even ten blocks from the library and she was already involved in a car chase from hell.

They were so going to prison.

Maggie clamped her eyes shut. "You're not really Will are you?" she asked suddenly.

"What makes you say that?"

"Will isn't a psycho." She was practically shouting now. "He doesn't like to read, he doesn't call me baby, and he doesn't drive a Pontiac Solstice. I don't know who or what your are, but you are not William Lennox."

"If anyone is a psycho, it's that glitch-head behind us." A voice suddenly came from all around her, calm and smooth, and deeper different from Will's tone.

A semi blasted its horn. They were heading towards him dead on, eighty miles an hour. Maggie clapped her hands over her eyes. The last thing she would hear would be sirens and blasting horns. The last thing she would see would be a mixture of red, blue, and the twin blinding white headlights heading right for them. The last thing she would feel would be cold metal and broken glass smashing into her ribcage. She was going to die. She was going to die. She was going to—

The car suddenly jerked once more to the right, narrowly missing the red and blue paint job.

****

BAM!

Maggie dared to peer through her fingers. She was perfectly fine, perfectly alive. Heart pounding, she glanced over her shoulder. Neither semi nor cop had been able to avert the collision, and had met head on; the collision had sent their pursuer rolling over the top of the semi, the front smashed and the window cracked. A miracle he wasn't road pizza.

"That better not be who I think it was," muttered the voice that came from all around her. It gave a shaky, rumbling laugh.

Maggie glanced at Will only to find an empty driver seat. The steering wheel was rotating its own, maneuvering the car through the streets (at a now safe speed) by itself. Holy shit, the car was alive. The car was _alive! _At first she was terrified stiff, but then as her pulse rate returned to normal, the idea slowly sank in with every smooth rotation of the steering wheel. The idea, even the very possibility was just fascinating. A talking, self-driving car.

Like something out of a science fiction film, maybe it was haunted like the car in Stephen King's _Christine…_or perhaps it was a living a machine, like something out of _Transformers. _

_If that was the case, _Maggie wondered, thinking about her books, _woul it be Decepticon or Autobot?_ Nevertheless, Transformers was entirely fiction. Something she had made up entirely, stories that had started out as just images and daydreams that come to her almost as easy as breathing. Maggie reminded herself of this, watching the streetlight's dim orange glow repeatedly swoop across the dashboard.

Obviously it didn't want to hurt her or it would have already done so.

_And it's obsessed with my stories,_she reminded herself_._ Maggie folded her arms. "So, since you're clearly not Will, who are you?" she asked.

She felt the car slow to a stop, pulling into a dark little ally behind several larger buildings. "If I answer that, will you answer my questions about your books?"

Maggie didn't want to reveal those secrets, but then, most of them were mysteries even to her. "You might not like what I have to say."

"Might work both ways."

Maggie was fine with that. For once, she would be the one to ask the questions and receive answers. The passenger door opened by itself. Climbing out of the car, Maggie began to wonder what she getting herself into.

* * *

Standing in the door of his garage, Sam scratched his head. "How the hell…?"

Approximately ten minuets ago, he had come home to find someone's car inhabiting his parent's garage. At first, he though he was at the wrong house, but after double-checking that it _was_ his house; he thought it was some sick joke. However, Miles didn't know anything about it, and Sam didn't have too many friends. He checked with his enemies, too, but that just ended in a series of harsh name calling from Trent his cronies.

So what was a comic book artist to do?

He looked at the bright yellow Camero and wished that it would just go away, drive off on its own, racing strips and all, before his parents came home from their trip to the Bahamas. They would have a cow if they ever found out; maybe even accuse him of stealing it. After a moment, Sam closed the garage door and decided that it would be best to call a tow truck.

Flipping through the yellow pages, he settled on an advertisement listed under the name, Banes Towing Company.

* * *

**A/n:** I hate my lame ass car chase…it's been _so_ long since I wrote anything close to action; and that was a medieval sword fight! Yeah, so technically, chapters three and four could be combined into one chapter, and originally that is how I planned it to be. But then Bumblebee came along and I decided to try to bring a couple characters together instead.

Yeah, so thanks for reading and reviewing thus far. You guys are awesome.


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